The Promise of Rainbows

by Ava Miles

  His head darted back at that, and the corners of her mouth tipped up even more.

  “The belt buckle,” she said with an arched brow.

  He looked down. “This old thing? I’ve had it since I first arrived in Nashville. I thought…well…I thought it was something a country music star would wear.” Darn it all if that wasn’t a bit embarrassing to admit.

  “Do you like to hunt?” she asked.

  He thought of the times his daddy had taken him and his brother out as boys. Before his voice had even changed, he could shoot a deer with a gun or a bow-and-arrow. Later, he shot men.

  “Not anymore,” he said gruffly and watched her smile fade.

  “I’m sorry to bring up a bad memory,” she said softly.

  Scrubbing his face, he steeled himself to shake off his change in mood, but the taste of dust and sand was in his mouth. Oh, how his subconscious delighted in torturing him.

  “It’s okay.” He stood up and extended his hand to help her up. “Let’s keep looking, but I think this one goes on the possible list.”

  He helped her up, but then quickly released her hand. People could misinterpret things, and he didn’t want to bring that talk to her door. The part of fame he liked the least was having his picture snapped against his knowledge and posted on social media, but he’d made his peace with it. Part of his job. But she didn’t need that crap. At least not until they were more sure of each other.

  “Like I said, I’d like to outfit the larger pieces for your house before we talk about things like lamps and more personal items,” she said as they walked through the showroom.

  “I can’t imagine having much of an opinion on lamps.”

  “You might feel different if you find a chandelier or a special light fixture. You can build a room around a piece like that, but I don’t think that’s your thing.”

  Build the room around a light fixture? “Ah…no.”

  She shrugged. “Some people prefer to start with color and supporting pieces like a piece of art or a light fixture. But most of my male clients prefer to start with furniture.”

  Jeez, he couldn’t imagine looking at all that color swatch shit again. “The old decorator lady tried to make me choose colors first, but it didn’t work for me. I’m a simple man with simple tastes.”

  “So you’ve said.” There was a little smile on her lips as she said the words. “Let’s go by function.” She placed her hands behind her back as she walked. “Where do you plan to hang out with your friends?”

  “In the den. Now that you mention that, I’m pretty sure I want that couch.”

  “Noted.” She scanned the showroom. “Do you play pool?”

  Her suggestion brought back memories of his early military days when he and the guys would go out on the town. Those were good times. “Sometimes Randy, Darren, Monty, and I play pool when we get together. We rotate years. I suppose I could put one in the room on the lower level for when they visit.”

  He’d hosted the get-together two years ago at his old house in Lebanon, Tennessee, and they’d ragged him good about all the boy toys he’d purchased now that he was a country music star. But they’d enjoyed driving around on the four-wheelers. Their mouths would gape like catfish when they saw Redemption Ridge.

  “I’ll add it to the list. A game room would be nice,” she said to him, all business again. “What else do you like to do with your friends?”

  Most of his friends were musicians. He wasn’t much of a partier, but he’d had Rye, J.P., and Clayton over for a casual beer. Sometimes they went four-wheeling or took out his boat to fish on Dare River.

  “We like to write or play music,” he said, trying to help her. “Have a beer. Go off-roading or four-wheeling. Watch sports or an action movie.”

  Her eyes gleamed brighter, which was how she looked when she had an idea. “Movies! We need to get you some more TVs. One for the den upstairs. How do you feel about having one in your bedroom?”

  When he thought about getting home late after a busy day, the idea of crawling into bed and watching the news appealed to him. Often, he fell asleep in his studio and awoke in the middle of the night to infomercials. “That would be great.”

  “I can put TVs in a few of the guest bedrooms as well, if you’d like.” She was already drawing out her sleek leather notebook.

  “I’m sure my company would appreciate that,” he replied to be friendly even though he didn’t have many overnight visitors. Truthfully, the house was empty except for him more often than not.

  “Would you like to pick out the furniture for the guest rooms?” she asked, searching his face again.

  “Not really,” he said, laughing to shake off thoughts of Monty. “I don’t think I could stand outfitting six bedrooms. Can you…infer my tastes from the main furniture I select?”

  There was a flash of something in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry. That was a stupid question. Of course, you can. It’s your job.”

  “Not stupid at all. I’m starting to get a sense of your taste. Let’s go look at bedroom furniture for you.” Pink suffused her cheeks in the most charming way, and she increased her pace to the next room.

  He gave her some time. Given the building heat between them, it wasn’t hard to imagine what she was thinking. Selecting a bed with a man you were attracted to had to be awkward. Not that he wasn’t fidgety himself. He would try to make it easy on both of them.

  “I’d…ah…like a king bed,” he told her when he reached her.

  She was already scanning the showroom. “How about the sleigh bed over there? It’s simple, but makes a statement.”

  There were at least a dozen bed frames set up around them. He scanned them all, making sure to study the one she’d recommended. The sleigh bed was pleasing to the eye. “I like it. Is there another one you fancy?”

  She cleared her throat. “Well, I like the one over there with the carved footboard. It’s still simple, but the design adds something extra.”

  He walked over and studied it. There was a simple carving of a tree on the frame, nothing too fussy. “What kind of bedding would you recommend?”

  “Something blue since you seem to like the color,” she told him, tracing the grooves on the footboard. “Navy, perhaps?”

  One of her inferences again. “I like navy,” he mused, now running his fingers over the carving as well.

  Their eyes met, and in them, he could see a heat that matched his own. His mind conjured up an image of them tangled in navy sheets, his body pressing hers into the new mattress.

  “The sleigh bed is a great choice too,” she said softly, looking away.

  But her hands lingered on the one with the carving. This bed was her favorite. Maybe if he bought this one with her, he could change his fate. Maybe one day, he would be whole enough to come to her as a man and make love to her in it.

  “Let’s get this one.”

  Her mouth tipped up into a smile that faded the instant she caught him staring at her. He needed to pull it together.

  “I’ll add it to the list.”

  He told her to buy the other sleigh bed for one of the guest rooms, and they fell into a quiet lull as they walked through the other showrooms. When he caught sight of another statue of an alligator smoking a cigar, he crouched down beside it.

  “Just so we’re clear,” he said, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “I’m not looking for anything like this.”

  “Duly noted,” she replied, fighting a smile. “I hate to tell you this, but I happen to know that statue is one of their bestsellers.”

  “No kidding?” he said, rising and patting the reptile’s head.

  “I shouldn’t mention it, but I believe Rye has one in his game room,” she said, trying not to smile.

  He snorted out a laugh. “Somehow I missed that. I’ll have to rag on him the next time I’m over.”

  “Feel free. How about we look at some desks for your office?”

  He did need an official office, he
supposed. “Right now, I do most of my business stuff in the kitchen.” Paperwork didn’t belong in his studio.

  “We need to get some bar stools for the island in the kitchen,” she said, flipping the pages of her notepad. “Then we should look for a couple of dining room tables.”

  “A couple? Isn’t one usually good enough?”

  She laughed—the same natural laugh he’d heard around her family. “You need one for the kitchen too. You have a nook to fill.”

  “A nook? That’s like a nook and cranny, right? I might have to use that in a song sometime. It has whimsy.”

  “Whimsy,” she said with a sigh. “I love that word. It’s magical.”

  His gaze traveled across the lovely planes of her face. Her cheekbones made his fingers itch to trace them, and the outline of her lips tempted him to kiss her right then and there.

  “You are so beautiful,” he told her quietly, unable to hold back the words. “Especially when you’re like this, talking about whimsy and magic.”

  “Jake…” she said in that same soft tone he was coming to love, full of both uncertainty and allure.

  The urgent beat of his heart reminded him that he was still a flesh and blood man even if he wasn’t a whole one. “I’m going to visit your mama next week. I wasn’t forthright before, but I want…no, I need to be.”

  She let out a long breath.

  “When I have a handle on…my past, I’d like to ask you out. Is that all right?”

  Looking down for a moment, she fussed with her nails. “You’re a client right now, and I shouldn’t…”

  “What if I wasn’t?” he asked, wishing she’d meet his gaze. “Would you go out to dinner with me?”

  She finally glanced up, but it was brief, as if she were shy. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

  He made himself step back. “That’s all I wanted to know. We’ll complete my house, and I’ll work with your mama.” He ignored the part of his mind that said maybe her mama couldn’t help him.

  To believe that would be to lose all hope.

  Chapter 10

  Belle Meade Boulevard was a feast for the senses. Shelby loved driving down Nashville’s famous street, and now that she had Pearl, the trip was even more enjoyable. She passed one Southern mansion after another before pulling up to the wrought-iron gate of her boss’ palatial estate. When the gate opened after she rang the call button, she sped down the lane to the wide circular driveway.

  Situated on four acres, the two-story brick mansion was over ten thousand square feet and sported six bedrooms, eight baths, and five fireplaces. It always took her breath away. After exiting her car, Shelby rummaged for a penny from her coin purse to throw into Gail’s massive Italian stone fountain, something that had become her good-luck tradition. She’d first done it years ago, back when she was a scared twenty-three year old with only one year of accounting experience under her belt. Her wish on that first visit had been for a successful interview.

  The water sparkled in the sunlight as she rubbed the penny between her fingers. Three cherub-like children were frolicking in the spray as one mighty angel watched over them.

  “I wish for…” Shelby had to think for a minute. “Something amazing and wonderful to happen today.”

  She threw the copper coin, and it sank to the bottom with the hundreds of other coins she’d tossed on earlier visits. Though Shelby was the one who’d started the tradition, other visitors had continued it. It drove Gail’s butler crazy, but her boss had insisted the coins remain where they were. Gail loved the idea of people throwing money and wishes at her doorstep, especially the accountant who looked after her finances.

  The two-story white wrap-around porch seemed to glow in the bright morning light, and Shelby skipped up the brick steps to the front door and rang the bell, feeling renewed from her wish.

  Jeffries—the bona fide English butler Gail’s daddy had brought over from London to serve the family—opened the door. Nearing seventy, she imagined, he had a fine head of short white hair, permanently narrowed eyes from the haughtiness he wore like a prized cloak, and a lean frame that likely came from never sitting down. She had a talent for thawing his uptight demeanor, but he’d yet to crack a full smile in her presence.

  “Hello, Jeffries,” she said as she entered the foyer. “The house is looking beautiful as always. Every time I visit, I don’t think you can make it more presentable, but you somehow manage.”

  “I try, Ms. McGuiness,” he said, bowing slightly.

  Fighting the urge to bow back to him like Carole Lombard might have done in an old movie, she turned and scanned the room. Orchids wound their way around bamboo stalks in eye-popping lavishness on the center table.

  “The orchids are particularly stunning. Where is Ms. Hardcrew at the moment?” she asked formally.

  “In her office, miss,” Jeffries said in that stiff upper-class accent, turning in his black butler’s uniform that looked like an old-fashioned tux and tails. So Downton Abbey of him.

  She followed Jeffries down the long hallway to the office. When she entered, Gail was bent over on her desk, her black hair fanned out around her face. Alarm shot through her, and then she heard a sob. Was Gail crying?

  “Maybe you should return at another time, Ms. McGuiness,” Jeffries suggested in a quiet tone, completely nonplussed by the scene.

  “I’ve got this, Jeffries,” Shelby told him. Then she shut the door in his deadpan face.

  Moving quickly across the white silk rug to where Gail was seated, she put her hand on the woman’s back.

  “Gail! Good heavens. What in the world is the matter?” Gail wasn’t named Hardcrew indiscriminately. She was the toughest woman Shelby knew.

  Her boss shook a weak hand in the air. Her ruby, amethyst, and sapphire rings all glittered in the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Give me a minute, Shelby. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m having a moment.”

  Leave it to Gail to set a person down even when she was crying. Shelby took a seat in the tapestry chair across from the antique cherry desk. Silence hung between them for a few long minutes.

  “Do you have a mirror?” Gail finally asked, pushing herself upright.

  Leave it to Gail to address personal grooming first and foremost. Shelby handed her a makeup mirror from her purse, hoping that request was a positive sign her boss was coming back to herself.

  Gail wiped at her kohl-lined eyes, which were smudged, and tidied her curly black hair. “Oh, take that thing away. I look like an old crone.”

  “I’m sure Jeffries can find you a wet washcloth,” Shelby suggested, hastily stowing the mirror.

  “It will take more than a good scrubbing to alter this damage.” Gail heaved out a sigh. “Crying does age a person, doesn’t it? I will have to ensure I don’t do it often.”

  If Shelby hadn’t been so worried, she might have smiled.

  “Shelby dear, why are you here? I can’t seem to remember at the moment.” Gail opened a desk drawer and drew out an object that took Shelby a moment to recognize.

  “Is that a garter flask?” Shelby asked with a gasp.

  Gail waved it in the air, and sparkles shot across the room from the crystals etched in the glass. “Yes. My first husband, God rest his soul, presented it to me on our first anniversary. I should have buried it with him. He made me drink quite a bit until he passed. But it’s too lovely for words. It’s from Paris, and it’s covered in Swarovski crystals. Of course they rub your thigh raw if you actually put it in a garter. Not a smart design.”

  “It is beautiful.” Maybe she needed to get herself one, minus the chafing. “I’m here for your signatures on payroll this month.” Gail always signed the checks personally, saying it was her way of showing her employees she cared about them. Shelby rather respected that.

  “Of course! Payroll! Lord have mercy. I must be having a day if I can’t remember something as regular as that.” She tipped back the flask and took a long draught. “Bourb
on. Reserve barrel. Damn good. Would you like some?”

  “No, thank you,” she said politely. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

  Fresh tears darted into Gail’s eyes, and she reached into her desk for a hand-stitched blue handkerchief embroidered with her initials. “I had a call this morning from my doctor. He tells me I have something called familial hyper…hyper.” She grabbed a notepad by the phone. “Hyper-tri-glycer-i-demia. Good Lord! Where do medical people come up with these names?”

  Shelby had no idea what the term meant, but it sure didn’t sound good. Besides, tears and a garter flask implied something serious. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Gail,” Shelby said, her stomach swirling with nerves. “Is there anything I can do? Anything you need?”

  “Hell’s bells, Shelby, this disorder isn’t going to kill me,” Gail muttered, taking another deep draw from her flask. “I won’t let it. But I am pissed I didn’t know about it earlier.”

  “Umm…I’m not familiar with…what you have,” Shelby said, wishing she’d taken Gail up on her offer to have a drink.

  “Neither was I,” Gail sighed, holding the flask to her ample bosom. “I went in for a checkup because a friend insisted I should. I’m only forty-five. You’d think I was in danger of being put six feet under if you asked Eunice. But that woman turned out to be an angel in disguise. Even though I exercise and watch my weight like a belle out for my first season, my triglyceride thingies were off the charts. The doctor asked if anyone in my family had heart issues at a young age, and I honestly didn’t know. I immediately called my aunt because my daddy—God rest his soul—never talked about his health. I hung up with her shortly before you arrived.”

  Shelby immediately thought about her daddy. He’d be going on fifty-five years now—about the time when many men started to experience health troubles.

  “True-blood Southerners don’t flap their gums about their health,” Gail continued. “It’s bad taste. Like talking about money.”

  Shelby only nodded.